Stavanger Bay nobody makes me bleed my own blood

No offense was taken at this rather ominous portent; Moorhen allowed herself to relax a fraction further, and gave a tentative — albeit reserved — wag of her tail when the wolf offered her name.

I am Moor, the erne replied in kind, her burgundy gaze sweeping once more over the seawolf's rangy figure. She seemed to be in good condition — not too thin or battered. Today I walk by my alone. But, in seasons past, I am guard to leader, and their börn. Babs. Um. Puppies.

She peered intently at Umbra to see if she was following this, not because she didn't trust the other wolf's insightfulness or attention span, but because she was always uncertain about her word choice and syntax.

I will come to stay at Ironclan, she said, and although her words were rather decisive, her tone made it clear that this was an offer she was making, and not a demand.